Looking
by SurelyForth
Summary: Anders hated the rules. Fortunately, there were loopholes. Brand Cousland wasn't property of the crown and, now that the king had his own royal betrothed, remaining physically faithful was hoped for but not expected. Rated M for adult stuff.


**Note from SurelyForth: **Prompt fill for Anders LiveJournal community. The prompt was Sight and it gets flirted with. A little.

This is Brand Cousland canonland. Alistair is king and Brand is his mistress. Anders is...waiting for an opening.

All things good come from BioWare. All things WTF? come from me.

* * *

"I smell like whiskey vomit," the commander wore a black silk gown that was now slick with bile. Despite the fact that the bodice was loosely fitted, the thin fabric clung to her chest and stomach.

Anders was confused by this, to be honest, because on the one hand...Oghren harf. On the other was the unmistakable curve of her breasts outlined dark against the pale stone wall behind her.

"Please tell me you're not looking at my tits," her cheeks were flushed with indignation and, from the bright sheen of her wide eyes, she might very well burst into tears at any given second. "Please tell me you were thinking 'I bet Brand would like a warm bath and, as a mage, I could help her out with that.' _Please_."

This was sarcastic, but also pleading. _I'm miserable,_ her postured cried. _This was supposed to be fun and instead I ended up being two hours late for fun and now I'm covered in vomit and I just want to die a happy death in a hot bath._

He'd become very good at reading her these past few months. From lowered brows when she was angry, to bit lips when she was thoughtful, to the tilt of her head when she talked to him. The tilt of her head, which he'd decided meant that she was adding an unspoken _one of these days, Anders, I'm going to let you in _to everything she said.

He'd hoped that tonight would be the letting in. The invitation to spend the evening with her had come after a particularly heated exchange in the downstairs supply closet.

"You know, if you weren't the arlessa and always having to be do _arlessa_ things," he was trying very hard to not gag or stare and decided that yes, a bath _would_ be the best idea. Spinning her around so that he could unfasten her gown, he continued his thought, "We could have just stayed in that closet all afternoon."

The buttons on this particular dress were silver, and he admired the contrast between the smooth white of her back as he exposed it against the inky fabric and then the glinting metal that drew his attention to the edges of her, guiding his eyes down after his hands.

When he came to the last button he allowed himself to linger with his fingers resting at the base of her spine. Scars spanned her entire backside, mostly faint jags of white on white, but he was focused on the twin indentations at the small of her back. They were fairly unremarkable, to be honest, but he'd not seen them before, not on her. Like all the tiny discoveries he made in the rare moments that she allowed him this close, he gave himself over to imagining what he'd be doing if he were her lover and not just the subordinate with whom she shared a rather complicated attraction.

"Anders," she pulled the bodice away on her own and it snapped him out of his reverie. "Would you please warm the water for me? As hot as you think I can stand...I'd boil myself if I thought I could survive it."

Her tub was tucked in the corner of her quarters and he was able to seat himself somewhat comfortably on a wide edge so that he could plunge his hands into the air-cooled water that had been brought up warm over three hours ago.

"I think Oghren did this on purpose," he closed his eyes and visualized _heat_ running through his veins, down his arms and out through his fingers.

"Why, did you tell him about, you know..._this_?" She was behind him, of course, and she sounded _naked_.

"Would I have to? That dwarf has a special _sense_ for these things," Anders fought the urge to turn and see if his suspicions about her state of being were correct. "You told me that yourself. How many times has he walked in on or interrupted you and Alistair?"

"So many," she sounded weary. "Did you _have_ to bring him up?"

That was a loaded question, and Anders focused on the water and not his curiosity, nor the rules that would need to be followed were anything to happen between him and the woman _possibly naked woman_ waiting for her bath.

The rules.

Rule number one was the first to fall: _eyes to yourself_. That was on her, when she started in on his _freckles_, her gaze running over the skin high on his cheekbones and the expanse of his chest left bared by those ridiculous robes she made him wear for the first few weeks of his Wardenhood. Despite his embarrassment that freckles were the catalyst, he'd been glad for the reprieve. Whiplash was starting to be a real concern as his eyes _never_ wanted to stay to himself, especially when confronted with her own, startling clear green ringed in midnight blue.

The first thing _he'd_ said when she realized she'd been busted was _You have gorgeous eyes. _And it had come out _fast_,as if not telling her that bit of information had been eating at him his entire life, even before he knew that there was a Brand Cousland who had _any_ eyes, let alone eyes he found to be _gorgeous_.

That was when rule number three came into play- _no compliments_ .

_We are both easily swayed by simple flattery._

_We are both easy. Flattery doesn't even have to enter the picture._

_So you see the problem?_

Rule number two had been _no touching unless healing_ _or dressing wounds_. It hadn't been undone, really, but it had been rendered almost moot by the breaking of rule number one. He'd learned that, even when given the opportunity, her reaction to hands close but not making contact coupled with an intense stare, and maybe an appreciative smirk, yielded a response that he found almost more satisfying that what he'd get with a touch.

_Cheeks flush, eyes brighten, teeth come out to press on your lip, which makes it even more incredibly biteable, and that's just above you shoulders. I'll not even discuss the way your chest pushes itself out and your hands become _animated.

_Is this a compliment?_

_I always take it as such._

Rule number four was _kissing randoms is fine_. That was her personal rule, and had nothing to do with _him_ besides to keep him at bay when he caught her entangled with barmaids.

And how a noblewoman, and the Commander of the Grey, had developed a taste for wenches he would _never_ know, but it had happened _four _ times since he'd joined the Wardens and he was more than a little jealous because when _he_ tried such a move, he usually ended up with ale down his robes.

Not that he _minded_ seeing these things play out. For something Brand classified as _meaningless_, she certainly put some effort into them. Long, graceful fingers would brush hair from faces, small smiles would curve her full lips and her eyes would go soft with desire as she drew the quarry near, closing the distance with her hips and chest before her mouth even found its target.

Despite the fact that she dominated these women, she being tall and well-muscled despite her lank, she was at her most gentle here. Her hands grazed and there was never anything remotely aggressive until the recipient of her affection would, inevitably, give in and wind her arms around Brand's waist, or neck, and Brand would take this increase in intensity as an invitation to part her lips and that's when Anders would usually intervene.

Not that he'd seen too much, of course. He didn't think that there was an upper limit to the amount of _that_ that he could see in his lifetime. There was just the risk of _word_ getting back to the king that his beloved was tramping about Amaranthine...tramping about and Anders would hate for Alistair to have to come up from Denerim and do something about all this, maybe even come up with some rules of his own.

Because, as it stood now, there _were_ loopholes. Brand wasn't property of the crown and now that the king had his own royal betrothed, remaining _physically_ faithful was hoped for but not _expected_. Then there was the fact that it had been _months_ since the king had been able to make it up to the Vigil; Anders imagined that Alistair had long since stopped even _hoping_ for chastity and was now clinging to trust that Brand wasn't blowing her way through every available man and woman in her arling.

Which she wasn't. Anders had to applaud her restraint. Since he'd Joined the Wardens, he'd been hard-pressed to not get aroused by even the most minute human contact. From the way she radiated desire every second that she wasn't eviscerating darkspawn and bandits with her swords, he imagined that this had been a dauntingly frustrating five months for his commander.

Or maybe he was projecting.

The bathwater was very near intolerably hot for him, so he withdrew his hands and turned to see where Brand stood with her back to the room. She was almost naked, her underwear remaining on, and the small, silk garment was pushed low on her hips and did little to dissuade his mind from fantasizing about that which laid obscured beneath the dark scrap of fabric. Not that he needed _more_ to consider as his eyes ran down the slope of her back, past the dimples he'd been admiring earlier that seemed designed for tongue or fingertips, to the _lift_ of her backside.

"Maker, I love your _ass_."

The words were out of his mouth at a rough purr before he could even really think them, and she spun around, arms across her bared chest and her face...well, she was trying very hard to not look _pleased_ by this confession.

"What are you doing, anyway?" He could see water droplets rolling down her stomach, running along the plane of her abdomen towards the tattoo on her hip, two swords piercing two skulls, and he could watch _that_ all day. "Did you wash before your _bath_?"

She walked towards him and there was a new brightness about her.

"I couldn't stand the stench, so I wiped down. Plus, this means I won't be soaking in vomit water for the next twenty or so minutes. Always a bonus."

Indeed. She now smelled like the rose oil she kept by her basin, a small concession to frivolity, and he knew he should be moving out of her way, and probably leaving the room, but he was forced by his nature to take her in before he did so.

"No compliments," she shifted her hips to off center, the left one more _left_, and slid her elbows back so that her hands were cupping her breasts, her fingers kept slightly apart, allowing him to catch tantalizing glimpses of white and pink between them. "No _more_ compliments."

He moved aside so that she could step into her tub, his eyes now trained on her feet as they entered the water, and then her shapely calves as steam curled up and around her knees.

"You forgot something," unthinkingly, his hand went up and caught the band of her underwear, tugging them carefully away from her body and down long, lean thighs and past scarred knees.

_Scarred knees_ were something he'd seen before, and he'd made jokes then. Now, as the final slip of cover fell away, he touched them, allowing his knuckle to run along one pale line that wound jaggedly along the outside edge and he noticed the way the muscles above where he lingered twitched and pulled tight.

She sank into the water, brushing his hand away as she did so, and she lowered herself in such a way that he missed seeing much of anything. From standing to obscured by water up to her armpits in seconds.

Well, not completely obscured, of course. There were still suggestive colors he could catch in the water, although her arm was back to covering her breasts. Her eyes met his, her teeth on the edge of her lip and she was considering what to do with him now that the water was warm and she was no longer reeking of Oghren's special brew and bile.

"What were you going to do with me _before_?" Anders held her gaze. "I was hoping for a continuation of the _closet_."

The _closet_, where his attempts to loosen a muscle in her shoulder that was knotting up during a particularly stressful reception resulted in hands _roaming_ and his mouth brushing her neck while her backside moved against him _deliberately_ and there had been no doubt what they each wanted to happen within the other with these come ons, deployed as they were with utmost confidence that they would be very well received.

_I've been studying you, my lady_. Anders aimed his breath at a spot just behind her ear that might very well hold more nerves than any other part of her body and her shoulders pressed against his chest in response_. You need way more than healing and a massage, and I am very qualified to give you _more_._

She'd extricated herself from his grasp at this, but didn't leave him immediately. Instead, she turned to face him and, in the golden light of his staff, she studied him and she was there, long, slender fingers brushing a strand of hair away from his face, a small smile curving her full lips and her eyes soft with desire.

Soft and something else he'd not seen before, _dark,_ as her head tilted and that meant...

_Come to my room this evening,_ she kept her physical distance. _And we'll see what I need._

"You know, I can give myself what I _need_," her knees came up out of the water and she abandoned her possessive holding of her breasts to slide her hand down and between her thighs, the water above churning gently as she moved against herself.

"This is hardly fair," her other hand was on the edge of the tub near his leg and it balled onto a fist while a small moan fell from her lips. "You expect _me_ to _watch_ you..."

Her head settled back, the action pushing her just above the surface and he was momentarily distracted by the pale pink of her nipples, wet and hard as her breasts began a subtle movement, a steady rise and fall that made the water lap at the edges of the tub and then return to obscure them in tiny breaking waves.

_Ah._

Her knees shifted further apart, the left one bumping his hand, and he took the opportunity to began stroking the inside of her thigh, careful to stay above the water, and just this small contact warmed his stomach.

She reacted to his touch, her hand moving faster as her body tensed and her breasts were now almost entirely exposed and they were gleaming in lamplight like highly polished sculpture and not something that would yield to his touch, that would yield in her and him both.

Above her breasts was her throat, her neck long and dove white and he could see the pale blue of an artery and the flickering of her pulse beneath that soft skin, soft skin that bore few scars and such perfection begged to be sullied a bit.

He shifted forward, his hand sliding below the water, and his free forearm bracing himself on the wall behind Brand's head as he lowered his mouth to her neck, his lips burning against cool skin that quickly met the temperature of his _tongue_ as he teased before his teeth began to _nip_. He tried to be gentle at first, but her hips rose unexpectedly and his hand had went, unbidden, to cover her own, his fingers guiding them both along her and then _into_ her together, the feel of being there, the slippery smooth _hot,_ making his vision blur.

"You could have warmed the water yourself," she withdrew her hand when he murmured this and he slid two more fingers in, his thumb drawing against the outside in lazy circles that worked its way up, making the skin of her throat come alive against his lips as her heart started racing.

That's when he bit, _gently_ but with the intent of leaving a mark. She yelped when he did and he felt the soft pressure of her tightening around his fingers and he gave it a little _more_, his blood rushing now and desire catching at him.

He raised his head to examine his handiwork on her neck, red against white, and he almost went for a second go when he saw her smile.

Now she'd smiled at him before, it was one of the reasons he was so into _this_, but her smile now wasn't because _he'd_ said something funny or _she'd_ said something funny or Oghren had _done_ something funny...this smile was because _you were _exactly_ what I needed._

Moving his hand just enough to keep her going, he counted all the ways she was indicating her appreciation. Besides her steadily rocking hips, and her smile, her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips parted and even darker. Her eyes, though, were the most telling because they were gleaming now with unrestrained lust and he _got_ it and welcomed her hand as it found its way beneath the edges of his robe to explore along the bared thigh beneath.

"You know, there's only so much that can be done like this," he closed his eyes as she brushed against him, shivers running down his thighs and up his stomach. "Maybe we could start a fire and I could..." he curled his fingers upwards, allowing a good amount of magic to pulse out, and was rewarded with an incredibly unsubtle clench around his fingers and a groaned _Andraste's ass, Anders_.

She nodded and they simultaneously withdrew their hands from each other, Anders going to the fireplace and Brand finishing her bath. A quick blast of flame set the wood to crackling within seconds and he'd gotten a blanket from the bed and several pillows situated on the floor before she came to join him. She'd dried most of the way, but firelight caught on a few damp places and he could see the hair at the base of her neck curling up from the moisture, almost black against the dark chestnut that hung otherwise straight to her jaw.

It wasn't long before she was pressed against him, her lips against his throat just below his jaw and her hands pulling at the fastens on his robes. He tried to help her, but she was naked and so close that all he could do was explore the curves of her with his hands the way he'd been exploring with his eyes all evening _ever since I met her, to be honest, even before that stupid rule was no longer in effect_.

Suddenly, he caught her face between his hands and pulled it towards his.

"You have a bump on your nose," his lips brushed it. "You have a slight gap between your teeth and a tiny groove in your lip where you bite it. You have a scar on your chin and one in your right eyebrow and when you smile you have five lines on your left side but only four on the other. Without looking, I can tell you that you have seventeen scars on your back and a birthmark in between your breasts, barely darker than the rest of your skin but I noticed it. I also noticed how you stand up taller around Garavel and Nathaniel and slouch a little around Velanna and Sigrun. You chew left and write with your left hand but lead with your right side in combat and you have these absolutely adorable dimples at the small of your back..." he slid his hands down her torso and settled his fingertips there, a smirk playing across his face. "I've been thinking about them all night."

She didn't respond for several seconds, her lips parted as if there was something she wanted to say but her tongue was lost or caught somewhere around _you_ _chew left _and why did he _say_ that? It was very unsexy.

Sensing that this could take awhile, he leaned in and kissed her neck again, allowing his tongue to slide out and taste the saltiness of her skin that was at odds with the scent of roses wafting up from her chest. Her hands buried themselves in the fur at his shoulders, and he continued upward, his eyes closed and everything that he'd not allowed himself to consider, things like taste and smell and how she felt shifting against his palms, overwhelmed him.

He was at her mouth now, he could feel her breath, and all it would take was the tilting of his chin and then he'd be...

Instead of soft lips against his own he felt slightly rough fingers and his eyes flew open, open and looking directly into _hers_.

They were still gleaming with desire, but there was something else there now, in addition to _regret_ as she applied the slightest amount of pressure and he inched back.

"What rule is this?" He caught the arm that kept him away, his thumb pressing into her wrist.

"I think you know," she shivered and looked incredibly sad. "You..._I_. We can't...this can't be _that_, Anders."

_That_. _Meaningful_. He could still get her on the floor, they could finish what they started in the closet and had continued in the tub. It would undoubtedly be _fun_ and he had a healthy appreciation for _fun_.

"There are nine women in this keep alone who could give me what you're offering, Brand," he didn't admit that only one of them was prettier and _none_ of them would be able to keep up with him while Brand was probably indefatigable. He also didn't add that he felt like he was writing a new verse in a song that had already been sung, this departure from expectations surprising them both. "I had enough of rules in the circle and I am _fine_ with just looking. For now."

_For now_ because her head was tilted slightly, teeth on her lip, and she was working on her own lines. She lowered her arm and stepped away, eyes apologetic as he passed, his resolution to leave burning up quickly because she was still _completely_ naked and beautiful.

"I could have said the same things about you, Anders," her voice made him stop and he looked over his shoulder, one hand on the door. "Well, almost the same. Crazypants stuff that I've been kicking myself for noticing and thinking about. The freckles, the degree to which your smile is crooked, and you nose is slightly off and you have that one canine that's a little longer than the other. I could talk about your hands, and your ears, and the way you walk and the specks of gold in your eyes. That's why I noticed how you looked so different when you were telling me and...this was always going to be more than sex, but I wasn't prepared for _that_."

Anders hesitated for a second before leaving, the hallway cold and gray after cheerful fire and the woman he wanted caught in the glow. He was not upset, only _frustrated_. But he could handle _frustrated_, especially with the feel of her remaining on his chest, lips, and fingers as he stripped in his room and slid into bed.

For several minutes, he tried to recapture all the new he'd experienced tonight; the taste of her skin, the smell of her fresh from the bath, the texture of _inside_, and the cries of ecstasy felt at his hands. Above this all was something familiar yet _entirely_ new- her eyes so close to his and mirroring exactly what he was feeling, right down to the surprise that the two of them could walk away from the table, and the sex thereon, because of _sentiment_.

Surprise. _Looking_ was supposed to be safe, a shallow pursuit that meant _nothing_ besides the fact that they found each other worth the non-effort of seeing. It certainly wasn't supposed to be the thing that said _I have these feelings for you that are deeper than either of us care to pretend we are_.

And yet, as he drifted to sleep and thought of her counting the freckles on his chest, her lips curved in that unforgettable smile, the thing that said _I have these feelings for you _was exactly what _looking_ had come to be.


End file.
